The Double Tap
by puckleberryjam
Summary: AU. It's right out of a horror movie. It's the zombie apocalypse. Everyone's afraid, but fear won't help you survive. You have to be brutal, ruthless, and look out for yourself. After all, isn't anything else just a distraction? Puckleberry & Finntana
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes shit just goes wrong. That had been his mantra since this whole fucked up mess. Zombies. Real, motherfucking zombies that just wanted to chase after anything still living and tear the flesh from its bones. And these bitches could _run_. Not like those old school movies, where the chick basically deserved to die for waiting around when she could've been in the next county by the time the zombies got to her.

At first the news said that it was a food born disease. Like Mad Cow or Swine Flu or some shit. Whole thing got political too. Republicans blaming Democrats. Democrats blaming Republicans. Maybe if they hadn't been arguing they would've realized what a fucking teenager could've put together. It was a virus. Zombies equaled virus. Not nerve gas sent by terrorists or some end of days shit. Well, maybe it _was_that last one. But unless the Messiah had shown up and gotten turned, Puck seriously doubted it. What? He's still a good Jewish boy, even.

He'd been lucky when the real shit went down. He was a college kid, but he'd been skipping that day. And by "skipping" he meant fucking a pretty blond whose name he knew only because of of the necklace she was wearing. Which was helpful, because he knew to shout out "Quinn!" when he came. No, he didn't really know the girl. He'd been going across campus when he saw her, crying and running like something was chasing her. Which, yeah, he looked, and there hadn't been anything. But she said that something had jumped out at her and what else could I go do but comfort the girl? So he fucked her good, even though she was sort of bossy, and not in the sexy way. Like she wouldn't let him take off her shit. What the fuck was up with that? But Puck had fucked weirder girls in the past, so he let it slide. He got up, tossed the condom, leaving a sleepy Quinn in bed.

He always showered after fucking a stranger, and he would've asked her to join if she hadn't passed out after he'd taken a piss. Besides, she didn't really seem like the shower sex type. He was pretty sure he saw he make the sign of the cross when he was taking off his boxers. He didn't really think too much about the virus at all. He was in a small ass college town in Michigan, and these "outbreaks" or whatever had been contained to the west coast, according to the news. And he was twenty one years old. It wasn't his job to worry about shit like that. He focused on three things: women, music, and getting out of this punk ass town. But right now, he wanted to focus on that first one.

He stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped loosely around his hips when he opened the bathroom door, seeing Quinn curled up, shirt still on, which was kind of annoying but whatever. He could probably talk her out of it. Fuck, he'd talked out half the moms in his home town out of their panties without much trouble.

"Babe?" He took small steps. Chick was probably sleeping, which wasn't too weird. He was used to tiring people out. Reaching his hand out, he tried again. "Quinn?"

She turned in an instant, making an ugly hissing sound that he'd never heard before and _fuck_ there was something black and thick coming up from her mouth. Something had happened. Something seriously, _seriously_fucked up. Her skin was motley and gray and green and just wrong. Her eyes were yellow and dead. That was the only word for them. Dead. And hungry. She was hungry. And Puck had seen enough movies to know what was going on, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it.

"Shit!" She lunged at him, swiping at his face again as she stumbled out of the bed, falling to the floor heavily, no grace involved. It was the briefest hesitation when he stood, staring at her at a safe enough distance. His voice cracked when he said her name again. "Quinn?"

She was up, staggering towards him, quicker than he expected but slow enough that he could respond, and he could jump over the bed faster than she could go around it. His apartment was small, so there wasn't enough room to maneuver around her. He was fucked. She was more fucked, but if he didn't do something soon he'd be dead, and she'd be gnawing on Noah Puckerman.

Not fucking today.

He didn't have a bat, or a gun, or even a shovel to use on the bitch. His best bet was the kitchen. He sprinted, rounding the corner of the small wall, hands clambering around as he heard her uneven steps, the disjointed groans and spits. As soon as he saw her head turn the corner he knocked her upside the head with the fire extinguisher, ignoring the ungodly scream she emitted, hitting the floor. He stood over her, waiting, breath stuck in his throat. A little part of him, in a voice that sounded just like his ma, told him that she was still a person. There was someone inside there who needed help.

He bashed her head in when she bared her teeth and made a grab for his ankle. From that point on, his ma's voice shut down. It was survival, and he'd fucking proven that he could do it. Whether or not he locked every door and window and cried an hour afterwards was his business.

But he'd learned his lesson. The most important rule of Zombieland. Trust no one. They're all out to eat you, one way or another.

… … …

There was one good thing about this big mess, at least in in Charlottesville, Virginia. There was literally no one. At least, no living people, which for Finn was both a good thing and a bad thing. It sort of sucked, being twenty one and alone in a world that he was pretty sure was close to being over. Which was pretty sad, if you asked him. He hadn't really asked for any of this, but then again, it was pretty dumb to assume that anyone had. He wasn't sure who was to blame for the outbreak. To be honest, he hadn't really followed the news coverage. Like, at all. He'd just been working in Burt's shop when he heard something slam into the door, and when he turned around, he saw a zombie.

And yeah, he knew it was a zombie. No matter what the books or scientists said, he'd played enough video games and seem enough horror movies to know what the thing was. It had an arm in its mouth. And he'd recognized that arm. It had been passing him a tire iron a few minutes ago. When he startled throttling the thing with that same tire iron, he pretended that it made him feel better. That he was sweating, not crying. Sometimes it was better to lie to himself than be honest.

So he didn't have his step dad anymore. And his mom had gone to Miami to visit Kurt at some tiny arts school. So he was pretty much completely alone during what could only be the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse. All he really had going for him was a bunch of tire irons and the Wal Mart down the road. And a pretty awesome truck.

There really wasn't too much to his story. He'd called his mom as many times as he could, until cellphone service had shut down completely. And nothing. Nothing from her, or Kurt. So really, all he could do was stock up on weapons and go find them. Just the hope of them being there was enough. Besides, there really wasn't anything left for him in Lima. And he didn't mind being alone, not really. He'd grown accustomed to it, after a few solid months on the the road alone.

Still, that didn't mean he _liked_getting chased by flesh hungry monsters. But that tended to happen whenever he stopped to get supplies.

He shot off one round, hitting what used to be a woman in the head, watching her fall to the floor. He barely mumbled a "sorry" before walking away. They _had_been people at some point. He turned, holding the rifle steady, the tip of the gun leading the way as he sidestepped several fallen boxes of Whisk. Another good thing about this whole zombie apocalypse: no houses to clean. But that didn't mean he didn't need stuff like soap, which was why he'd stopped at this Target knock off. Maybe there wasn't much running water left... at all. But there were rivers and lakes when he was lucky.

And it looked like someone else had the same idea as he did. And it was a big dude. Maybe not as big as him, but the big gun aimed right at Finn's face worked in his favor.

The guy couldn't have been older than him, even though he was trying to pull off the big adult thing. Yeah, dude had some pretty big muscles, and a really mean look in his eye, but Finn had learned a few things over the last few months, one of which was if you were still living, you were always scared. _Always_.

"Drop the gun."

Finn didn't budge, even if his arm was shaking a little. "You first."

The other guy snorted, raising the gun so it was aimed at Finn's head. Which yeah, that was a little scarier. At least Finn had been aiming at the guy's chest. "Shit right I will. You could be infected."

Alright, good point. "Well I was coming to get soap." He raised his chin, indicating to the display over the guy's shoulder. "And if I'd gotten bitten I wouldn't be planning on showering. Even though zombies should shower, since they smell like. You know. Dead people." Yeah, he was trying to make a joke. And it didn't really work. All he saw was the guy's finger tighten on the trigger. So Finn decided to be the bigger man, or maybe coward, and lower his gun.

It took a second, but the other guy did too, even if it was begrudgingly. He turned back to the soap display, shoving a dozen bars into his duffel bag. Finn moved forward, a little hesitant, but a little eager too. It was kind of cool, to see another living person. Last one he'd seen had been up in what used to be Baltimore. Poor sucker had made it all the way from Maine before a bunch a kids had gotten to him. Slurped on his intestines. It still made Finn queasy to think about.

"So." Finn pushed one hand into his pocket, shouldering his gun, moving to stand beside the new guy with the huge arms, who didn't really turn to look at him. "You got a name or..."

There wasn't much of a response, just a grunt.  
>"That's not really a name." He picked up a bar, tossing it up then catching it again. "I'm Finn. So are you from around here or..."<p>

"Look, are you gay or some shit?" The sudden question threw his off completely, eyes widening. "I don't have anything against it but I really don't need that shit right now."

That wasn't what he'd been expecting. Not that it offended him exactly. People used to think that he and his step brother were a thing, even though that would've been beyond creepy. He loved Kurt though. That was why he was going down to Florida. To see if _maybe_he'd made it okay. Maybe his mom was okay too. "What? No I just. I don't know." He scrubbed his free hand through his hair, shrugging, backing off. He figured this guy liked his space. And no way did he want to mess with that. "It's pretty lonely out here and you can get kind of crazy when there's no one around."

"You calling me crazy?" Guy actually looked at him that time, eyes dark, and he looked tired. Really tired and ready to shoot Finn in the head if he said the wrong thing. Fuck.

He shook his head, responding with a vehement "no" which was enough to make the guy snort then walk down the aisle, obviously trying to distance himself. But Finn wasn't done. He couldn't be done. Two people were better than one now, and this guy actually seemed like he knew what he was doing. He followed after him, taking a few seconds before speaking again. He needed time to come up with something to say that wasn't going to get him shot.

"I don't want to bother you but which direction are you headed?"

He got a gruff "south," in return, which was better than nothing. And it made him smile, something which hadn't happened in awhile.

"Really?" He moved a little faster, which the guy seemed to realize, since he sped up too. Which should have been an indicator that he wanted to be left alone, but Finn was too excited to really care. "Me too. Where? Because I'm going down to Florida, so maybe we could go down together. Strength in numbers, right?"

That was enough to make him turn his head, looking over his shoulder as he laughed. "Listen up, Frankenteen, I get that you want a buddy or whatever, but I'm not your guy. So go get your Tampax and leave. I got shit to do."

So that was a little mean, and kind of uncalled for but whatever. It would've made Finn laugh if it hadn't been directed at him. And it sort of didn't make sense. He didn't need Tampax. "I don't need Tampax."

"Are you challenged or something?"

"Only when I'm fighting zombies. Or there's a guy being a complete asshole to me in a Target."

He didn't really expect said asshole to turn around, gun cocked, and aimed at his head. Or for him to shoot. And maybe Finn almost pissed himself when that happened, because he expected to be dead on the floor. Or maybe hovering over his dead body, or maybe in Heaven or Hell or something. But the bullet whizzed past him, lodging itself in the head of a zombie that had been coming up behind him.

"And Puck just saved your life." He shrugged, shouldering the gun casually as he pushed past Finn, grabbing a box on the wall. "Here. You look like you need these."

And really, Finn had never felt dumber than when he held a box of Tampax with a dead undead person next to him. And with this Puck guy walking away. Wait. He was walking away. That wasn't cool. He dropped the box, jogging after him, and maybe making the dumb decision to step in front of him.

"Okay look." He held up a hand when Puck gave him a skeptical look, one that clearly read 'you're shitting me.' But he didn't try to interrupt, which was a thumbs up in Finn's book. "You obviously think you're some badass zombie killer. And that's awesome but everyone could use some help out here. And if you're going south and I'm going south it seems really dumb if we don't just go together." He let out a short breath, swallowing, because he really hoped he hadn't pissed this guy off. Since, you know, he still had a gun in his hand and Finn doubted that he'd hesitate using it. "Besides, you saved my life. So I kind of owe you."

It took a minute for Puck to answer. He kept looking him up and down, like he was trying to decide if Finn would be a waste of time or dead weight or something. And yeah, maybe he wasn't super coordinated or anything, but he knew how to use a weapon and he'd been alive _this_long. So obviously he wasn't a complete dumbass.

"Fine." It was a pretty relaxed response, given with a shrug and what was almost an eyeroll. "But if you get me bitten I'm shooting you."

And that was okay with Finn. Besides, he'd probably get himself bitten before anything happened to this Puck guy. Hell, he wouldn't put it past the guy to use him as zombie bait or something.

He made a note never to bring that up.


	2. Chapter 2

"Santana?" Her legs were crossed as she leaned against the couch, afghan wrapped around her shoulders, hands extended to take the tea the Latina offered. Well, she hadn't exactly _offered_, but Rachel had seen her with the kettle, and it only seemed fair that the girl make another cup. After all, they were roommates, even if it had only been a few weeks.

"What, Berry?" The taller girl flopped down casually, taking a hearty swig from the mug, hissing as it burned her tongue. Rachel shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear as she blew at her own mug. Really, the girl was impatient.

"What do you think about what's going on? This outbreak?" She tilted her chin towards the small television in front of them, news coverage focused solely on the illness which was supposedly hitting Southern California. Naturally, they were about as far away from the west coast as one could imagine, and as far as they were aware, the east coast was clear.

Santana shrugged, dropping her mug onto the coffee table, not bothering to use a coaster. The woman never did, despite Rachel's vehement pleas to do otherwise. "Don't know. Just as long as we don't get hit here. If it's a virus, that shit's going to spread like wildfire in New York." The way she spoke seemed almost casual, except there was a certain stiffness in her tone that Rachel was learning to recognize. It was the same tone she used when speaking on the phone with her father. There was something else just beneath the surface, something she didn't want anyone to see. And, naturally, it fascinated Rachel. But she valued her life over her curiosity, and decided against inquiring.

She shifted, bringing the mug closer to her chest, eyes fixed on the reporter on screen. "But still. It's eerie, isn't it?"

"Like something out of a 50s horror flick or some shit."

They weren't friends, not exactly. The two girls were Juniors at NYU. Rachel had been studying musical theater at TISCH, Santana focused on a degree in foreign policy. They shared few interests, and the smaller girl had no trouble picturing what life would have been like had they gone to high school together. Santana was the sexy bombshell boys would flock to, and Rachel only seemed to irk her with her stories about her studio classes and the most recent play they'd read. And yet, they lived together, due to less than favorable circumstances. Rachel had refused to room with the same girl three years in a row. Honestly, the girl was vile and rarely showered. How was a rising star expected to live under those conditions? Santana had transferred from Florida State. "Florida se puede ir a la mierda." Those were the first words Rachel ever heard Santana Lopez utter.

The living situation wasn't too wretched, although Santana had a bad habit of bringing her conquests back to the apartment, and the girl was shamelessly loud. Honestly, Rachel would not have been surprised to find out that Santana could sing. But that and the occasional argument aside, the two got along well enough. They sat in front of the news, both reacting silently to the events transpiring on the news.

It was Santana who woke up first.

"Rachel!" The afghan was ripped from her shoulders, mouth opening to exclaim about the rude awakening before a hand came down on her mouth, silencing her. "Shut up." Her roommate's voice was low in her ear. They had fallen asleep, the sun was down, and the usual sounds of New York City filled their small flat through the open window.

But then Rachel heard the screams.

Shrieks rose from the streets below, pleas and cries for God. Someone. The desperate calls were mixed with moans, and voices that sounded tortured, nonhuman. When Santana's fingers loosened around her lips, she managed to choke out "What is going on?"

Santana shook her head mutely rising to look out the window, and in the streetlights reflected into the room she saw that the girl held a long knife in one hand. She saw Santana stiffen, dropping the knife so it clattered against the wooden floor. She took several slow steps back before she was gone, bolting into her bedroom. Rachel's eyes drifted towards the window. There was a draw to it, that sick curiosity that she knew she would regret, but that was so enticing. She was off the couch, making a move towards it. She had to know where those screams were coming from. _What_was causing them.

When a hand shot out, whipping her around, she was met with dark, piercing eyes. "Don't." It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. There was a growl in Santana's voice, a raw quality unlike anything Rachel had ever heard before. And it petrified her. She swallowed, nodding as the Latina led her towards her bedroom. "Pack shit. Supplies. You're good at that stuff. Just- Fuck." She made a move back to her room, both hands slipping into her hair, fisting the dark strands, closing her eyes.

So Rachel did as she was told. She packed light, the way she'd always speculated she would need to in case of an emergency. She'd lived in New York for three years, and it would have been silly not to plan for an emergency, though she honestly had no idea what sort of emergency this was, and a part of her didn't want to know. Fifteen minutes passed before Santana reappeared in her doorway, a backpack slung over her shoulders, along with a duffel bag. In her free hand, she'd replaced the knife with a bat. _That_made Rachel uneasy.

Slinging her own bag over her shoulder, she took a step towards the Latina, who'd already started towards the door. "Santana, tell me what's going..."

"You pack food?"

"Yes. Non perishables. But Santana-"

"Come on, Berry."

"I am not going _anywhere_ with you until you tell me..." But Santana was gone, the door wide open, an invitation. Rachel stared after her, turning to look back at her apartment, which she'd spent so much time furnishing, loving. She'd _worked_for this. Dreamt of it. And now it was crumbling around her and she didn't know the cause. But her focus was broken by a scream from outside the window. A child's scream.

She didn't close the door after her.

… … …

She'd never been a bullshitter, even though she'd been born into a good family, great education, money to spend. She was hot, popular, and crowds parted when she walked through. But she didn't know how prepared she was for this. This virus or whatever, the one she'd waved off like basically everyone else was suddenly here, in her town. On her block. And all she had was a baseball bat.

Well fuck that. She was Santana Motherfucking Lopez, and she was a resourceful bitch. Of course, the sight from the apartment window hadn't been what she'd expected. Seeing a woman get torn apart, even from five flights up was pretty revolting. But she'd swallowed the bile and been level headed, even with her fucking dumbass of a roommate. Seriously, who the fuck was this Rachel girl, and _why_was she her roommate now of all times? Why couldn't she have gotten someone like Sarah Connor or someone more... capable? A 5'2 chick whose only talent was singing really loud didn't help much in these situations. But she couldn't just leave Rachel behind, at least not without some warning. If the chick followed her fine. If not, also fine. She couldn't worry about Rachel.

And no, she wasn't relieved to hear footsteps behind her on the stairs. But she _was_relieved that there wasn't any yammering to go along with it.

She hadn't been trying to protect the girl when she kept her away from the window, at least not protect her emotionally. If that shit had nearly made Santana sick, Rachel would have probably passed out or started crying. And Santana couldn't deal with that. This shit was getting real. End of the world, Armageddon situations. She needed as much stability as she could. So yeah, the longer Berry was kept from the grueling sight of the infected, the better.

But then she started talking again, somewhere near the second flight of stairs. "Santana, please. I need to know what's going on."

"You don't need to know shit. Just follow me and you'll be fine." She was being short. She'd have to be short from here on in.

"I have a right to know what is going on out there!"

A few more stairs.

"Who was screaming?"

A few more. Fuck this girl was obnoxious.

"SANTANA."

She was really trying her patience now. And they were just at the top of the first flight. One more flight and they'd be on the ground level, where they'd need a car, and a clear route to that car. But then Berry had to go and stomp her foot, voice rising.

"If you expect me to follow you out there when you most likely don't have the slightest idea of what you're doing..." And Santana really didn't have time for this.

She rounded on the smaller girl, storming up the few steps to meet her at the top of the flight, walking her back against the wall, bat extended so it was pressed against her chest. And why the hell was she wearing that stupid sweater with the owl on it? "Berry. Let's get one thing straight." Her eyes were narrowed, and she saw panic clear in Rachel's eyes. Good. "You are _not_my responsibility. You can do whatever the fuck you want. And if all you're going to do is talk then leave me the fuck alone." She lowered the bat before making her way back down the stairs.

She wasn't sure what to feel when she didn't hear footsteps behind her. She shook of whatever feeling it was, passing through the darkened lobby, the large glass doors in front of her, a clear view of the street. And no... zombies? Is that what they were? Either way, she saw none. She moved closer, slow, bat in hand as she approached. _Find__a__car.__Jump__start.__Get__keys._She was about ten feet away when she saw movement from her periphery.

Two of them. Both dripping blood and black, decrepit and she could smell them. And they'd gotten in through a side door. They couldn't have been older than twenty. Hell, maybe one of them was her classmate. Had been her classmate. "Well, fuck me." She bent her knees, moving away from the glass doors, standing behind one of the large stone columns in the lobby, just as one charged her. She swung, and the crack the bat made against its head was sick and disgusting and a part of her really, really enjoyed it.

And there came the second one. And this bitch was faster, spitting at Santana, moving around the column, and all she could think was _fuck,__maybe__they__aren__'__t__stupid._She swung, missed, jumping back to avoid when it's hand swung at her. She couldn't touch it. Maybe it was Hollywood, but she knew that touching it would mean she was fucked. When it charged again, she swung, but the crack was louder this time, the bat making contact with the zombie, then the column. The wood splintered, bending back against Santana's hands in a way she hadn't expected.

"Fuck!" Her scream reverberated as she looked down at her hands. Yeah, there would be a bruise. And her weapon was useless. She wouldn't cry though. Making more noise would only attract more of them.

But then something started to sputter.

Her blood chilled as she turned, seeing one of them, the first one she'd taken down was rising back up, and as her eyes darted to the other, she noticed that it too was moving, pulling itself up. Santana staggered back. They were in the way of the doors. She was trapped, even as she tried to maneuver around them, she found herself pressed against the wall adjacent to the doors, the two zombies encroaching closer.

Maybe she should pray, hope that God would give her some leeway into Heaven.

She was halfway through a Hail Mary when the two gunshots ran clear through the lobby, and both creatures collapsed to the floor in a heap. Santana's legs were weak under her, her back sliding against the wall before turning towards where the sound came from, eyes wide as the shooter approached, holding the gun out before shooting each zombie in the head once more.

"You'll want to be sure that they're dead." Rachel tucked the small pistol into the holster at her waist, swallowing thickly, hand quivering. She noted the baffled look on Santana's face, crouching to help the girl to her feet. "We've been roommates for nearly a month, San. You could have at least remembered that my Dad is in law enforcement."


	3. Chapter 3

"So then this chick, she must've been like, fifty. She sees this zombie coming at her and she's in the middle of her cigarette break. And she whips out this perfume bottle and blows it on her lighter and the zombie just bursts into flames. It was awesome."

They'd been discussing this for the last few hours, ever since they'd met in Target and Puck had saved his stupid ass. Turned out the guy's name was Finn Hudson, which was too lame to even begin to make fun off. Legit, Puck couldn't wait to come up with nicknames. And the dude was just kind of small town, but so was Puck, so he got that. Apparently dude had some okay weapons with him, but a shit car. Dude was going around in a minivan during the motherfucking end of days. No, Puck torched the thing because a, he wanted to. And b, it would totally kill a few zombies in the process. Maybe it'd explode, take some of them with it. After that they'd found a sick truck that could Puck hot-wire, even though Finn obviously wasn't cool with it. But seriously? Fuck the guy. Not like anyone was using it. So they'd been driving for a few hours now, and judging by a beaten up sign they'd passed a couple of miles back, they were somewhere in North Carolina.

Really, Finn wasn't too bad. Dude actually had some pretty cool stories about zombie kills. He even came up with some lame (but kind of fun) game called Zombie Kill of the Week. Basically, who had the awesomest kill.

Puck drummed his fingers against the wheel, shaking his head as he glanced over. "That's pretty good, man. But I got you beat. I heard about a zookeeper in Chicago. He tricked it into the lion habitat. It was fucking epic, man."

"But wouldn't that just turn the lion into a zombie?"

"What?"

"Well, you know, it's supposed to be a virus right? So like, if the lion ate it, it would get the virus too. Zombie lion."

"A zombie lion?" Maybe this guy was challenged.

"Yeah. You could call it a zion." He seemed really excited to have thought up of a new word. A really fucking retarded word.

"You're a dumbass, Hudson." But now that he thought about it, he was imagining a whole zoo, zombiefied. Before he would've thought it was the plot to a shitty movie. Now though, it could be like, real. Fuck.

They sat in silence as the car cruised down the deserted highway. There were abandoned cars and trucks littering the road, but no people. There were never people anymore. Just zombies. Motherfucking life ruining pieces of shit. He'd hoped that things weren't as bad as they'd seemed, after he'd finished off that Quinn chick, wrapped her up in a tarp and drove her out to the woods. He'd killed someone. _Killed_. And yeah, she hadn't been normal, but he didn't know what it meant. What if they found out? They'd throw him away so fast, what with his old juvie record.

He'd shaken the entire drive to and from those woods with her in the bed of his car. But it was over.

But really, it wasn't. Shit had just started. A few days later more of them popped up, taking over the campus, and it was like every zombie movie he'd ever seen. So yeah, he'd ditched. Stolen guns and a better truck and left. But not before going home.

"Puck?"

Thank fuck for Finn, at least right now. Guy was a good distraction.

"Yeah?" He didn't realize how tightly he'd been gripping the wheel until he felt the tingling in his hands.

"It's getting dark."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Finn cleared his throat in what was probably the lamest attempt to get attention _ever_. Even then, it sort of worked, but only because they were alone. "Maybe we should try and like, find somewhere to crash."

"Yeah? Like where?"

"That town maybe?" He pointed out the window to a worn sign, and yeah, guy had a point. It had been way too long since Puck had actually slept in a bed. Fuck, maybe they'd find somewhere with working water. But probably not. Then again, a bed...

He wound up taking the exit, and driving into what had to be a really expensive neighborhood. Like, houses with more than two floors nice. He chose the house because he was the one driving and like. The house was epic looking on the outside, so it had to be just as good on the inside. And yeah, he was totally right.

It was sort of tacky, but they were in the south now so like, Puck got why that could be. And for the most part, the house seemed okay. The owners probably high tailed it out of there as soon as they could, which was great for he and Finn. He didn't want to like, have to kick someone out of there home, not that Finn would've let him do that, stupid goody goody.

"I'll go upstairs. Make sure it's clear. You got everything covered down here, right Finnocence?" Puck raised an eyebrow, not waiting for a response before climbing up the stairs, leaving the taller boy behind. He was pretty sure the house was empty, so no reason the dude couldn't take care of himself. Guy was size of a school bus.  
><strong>… … …<strong>

"Uh. Yeah?" He nodded a little dumbly. He liked Puck, and he liked not being alone all the time. There was something kind of sad about the dude, though, like he didn't want to be around anyone. Like he was just putting up with Finn. But the dude had a point. This house was awesome, and big enough for the two of them, but things were never just "lucky" in Z-Land, at least according to Puck. So they did have to check it out.

He cleared the dining room, the kitchen. It was when he heard a distinct click in the living room that he realized he was sort of a fucking idiot.

"Turn around. Drop your weapon."  
><strong>...<strong>**...**** …**

House was nice. Really nice. Fuck, he was pretty that any of the bedrooms was bigger than his old living room. Fucking Confederate nuts-sacks. He was totally getting first dibs on the Master bedroom.

He kept his gun up, because he wasn't going to get caught off guard by some zombie or squatter. Or zombie squatter. Whatever. Basically, he'd kill it first. So he led with the tip of his gun, pushing the doors open slowly. And they were all empty so far. Until he found the master (And yeah, the size of the room was what he'd expected).

That one? Not empty. There was something- someone on the bed. And his first thought was zombie, but then it was 'zombies don't sleep, dumbass.' So at least he wouldn't have to worry about them trying to eat him. Didn't mean he wasn't willing to shoot them though. Puck's life came first, not whoever was sleeping here.

He slipped into the bedroom, gun cocked, circling the bed, eyes fixed on the body on the bed. They seemed small, which was another plus. His eyes trailed up from the boots to the tight jeans, and by then he realized it was most definitely a chick. And by the time he was at the head of the bed, gun pointed at this chick's chest, he assessed a few things. One. Chick was hot. Two. She was young. Three. She was sleeping. And four. She had a pistol next to her. So those first few things didn't really make up for her being armed. Dammit. He couldn't just shoot her, not when she was asleep. But he was taking that gun away. He wasn't taking that risk.

He reached forward slowly, fingers inching towards the gun. And then the girl _had_to wake up.


	4. Chapter 4

Nothing came without strings anymore, no matter what Rachel had been telling her the last few weeks. Like this house. Place was awesome. One of those places that only a rich person who's ancestors must've owed slaves. And were like, the types who put their kids in beauty pageants. She learned that from the gross pink bedroom upstairs. Kid couldn't have been older than ten and she had more makeup than Santana. It was sick. Not zombie sick, just people sick. But still, the house was awesome, and naturally, Santana said they should pass it up.

"But Santana! They have vegan food here."

"Berry, if you're still on this vegan shit I'm kicking your ass."

They weren't friends. Not really. Just because Rachel had saved her back in New York hadn't indebted her to the girl or something. But they were two chicks and it was going to be easier making it through the end of the world with some backup. Even if sometimes that backup wouldn't shut the fuck up. And everything the girl knew about zombies was from pg-13 movies, and she'd been lucky enough not to see someone get gored yet, even though Santana hadn't been that fortunate. Still, chick was a good shot. And she'd made enough good points to convince Santana to stay at this mansion or whatever. It was a long way to Miami, and it would be nice to sleep in a bed instead of the car. But that hope was officially fucked now that they had company.

She kept the 12 gauge aimed at his head, eyes narrowed. It was a big guy, and a few months ago, she would've been hitting on him, probably fucking him within twenty minutes. But not now. He had a gun. And she wouldn't take any risks. "Drop it."

"You first." Guy had balls. Or he was stupid. Right now, she was leaning towards the latter.

She cocked the gun loudly, taking a step towards him. "You do not fuck with me. Last person who did that wound up dead." Granted, dude had been a zombie, but she wasn't telling this guy that.

"Okay fine. I'll be the bigger person." He lowered his gun slowly, bending to set it on the ground between them. And yeah, he seemed sincere, but no, Santana wasn't going to be a dumbass and trust him. You didn't just _trust_ people anymore. That shit got people killed.

"Okay." She moved the gun to point as his stomach now, eyes still riveted on him, wetting her lips. "Now what are you here for?" She wanted to punch him when he just sort of shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Same thing as you?" He swallowed, eyes shifting nervously from the gun barrel to her face. "Looking for somewhere to spend the night? Maybe shower?"

God, showers. She'd forget to check if the water was working. And if it was, fat chance she'd let this guy take the hot water first. But still, he didn't seem like an actual threat. At least not yet. Slowly, very, very slowly, she lowered her weapon, removing her finger from the trigger. The guy visibly relaxed, giving her what she thought must've been a scared attempt at a smile. Good. He was scared of her. That's what she wanted. Good feelings didn't really get her anywhere in this world, not that they had in the past.

"Thanks."

"For what?" She raised an eyebrow, snorting his response. "Not painting the wall with your brains?"

He shuddered, and that almost made her laugh. "Yeah. That- that's good. Thanks for not doing that."

All she could really do was smirk, tilting her chin down towards the gun at his feet. "Take your gun, even though you don't really need it here. Place is clear."

"Oh. That's good. Thanks." He swallowed, nodding slowly, picking up his gun, but propping it up against a nearby couch. Not really Santana's style, but it was kind of funny, having someone believe her so blindly. Trust wasn't something commonly found in this new world of theirs.

"So, you got a name or what?" Her question seemed to take him by surprise.

He stumbled, nodding before he spoke. "Finn. Finn Hudson." It was almost cute, how he decided to introduce himself, holding out his hand.

She looked down at it, rolling her eyes, denying his offering. "Santana. Just Santana." They stood in silence for a few extremely long seconds before she decided to talk. Fuck, it was nice to have someone else around, especially if that someone had a dick.

What? She had needs. And he seemed safe. She was pretty sure she could take this guy down if she needed to. But she wasn't just going to jump him. That wasn't her style.

"So." His feet shuffled as he looked between the rug and her face. "Are you planning on staying here?"

She snorted, shaking her head. "No fucking way. Just stopping before going down to Florida. Heat's supposed to be a bitch for the fuckers." Yeah, she'd seen zombie movies, and knew that extreme heat wasn't good for them. Finn's face got all bright, and she opened her mouth to find out why he looked so excited. "Why the weird face-" she was interrupted, but not by him.

A scream, followed by gunshots came from upstairs. And Santana didn't play those games, not when her life was on the line. Her life came first. Over Rachel's, over an pretty asshole.

She strode forward, eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. "Are you alone?" She pushed at his chest, finger back on the trigger, growling. If a zombie had gotten in... But he shook his head.

"No. I..."

Fuck. Fuck, fucking Rachel.

... ... ...

All she'd wanted was to sleep. She'd been traversing the east coast with Santana for more than three weeks now. After the incident in the lobby, they'd remained together, though her roommate had yet to warm up to her completely. Rachel knew it wouldn't take forever. They were essentially bound to each other now, whether Santana wanted to admit it or not. She thought it must have been after they survived escaping New York. The virus festered in the city overnight. It really was a miracle that they'd made it out alive, and despite their pride, both girls had come to realize that they couldn't have done it alone. They may not have become friends yet, but they were at the very least, allies.

And when she'd yawned loudly for possibly the tenth time, Santana had sent her upstairs, telling her to, quote, "take a fucking nap." She'd claimed the master bedroom, even though she knew Santana would fight her for it. But for now, it was hers, and she planned on relishing it.

She was stirred by movement beside her, which made no sense, since all she had next to her was her pistol. Upon opening her eyes, she was greeted by a male face drawing close, hand reaching for her gun. And he had a gun. And he clearly hadn't expected her to awaken.

She screamed, high and loud as her hand shot forward, fingers closing around the gun, squeezing the trigger as she shot wildly. He cursed, and she thought that maybe she shot him before he lunged towards her, catching her off guard. She was sleepy and things were hazy and he had little trouble pinning her down, tearing the weapon from her grasp. She didn't know who he was, or what he wanted, but as one hand caught both her wrists, holding them tight over her head, the other had her gun, and it was pointed right at her.

"Don't. Scream." It was an order, and she wasn't sure whether she heard the gun click or she just imagined it. Either way, Rachel couldn't breathe. She just stared up at him, eyes wide, wondering what Santana would do once she realized what was happening. If she'd heard the screams. Whether or not she'd actually be _alive_ to see the girl again.

And good lord, this man was heavy. She couldn't buck him off, not that she would have tried, not with her own gun pointed at her. They just stared at each other until footsteps echoed from outside the door. "Finn, get in here!" So he wasn't alone.

When the door burst open, she couldn't see who it was, but the voice was familiar. "Get the _fuck_ off her!" Thank god, Santana.

The man on top of her didn't shift, though his head did twist back briefly. "And who the fuck are you?" He paused. "Finn, what the fuck is going on?"

Another male voice spoke. "Puck, they were here first. They're-"

"Armed." Rachel could picture Santana, arm extended, her impressive weapon on display.

"So are you." Her voice broke through the tightness in her throat, swallowing when this Puck character's head snapped back to her. "And I'm not. So I don't see how this is at all fair."

"Dude, they're fine. Just get off her."

"You heard your boyfriend, asshole. Get off." In some small section of her mind, Rachel registered what sounded like concern in Santana's voice. It was sort of nice, knowing that the girl actually _did_ care for her in some capacity.

It took a moment before he moved off the bed, freeing her hands. She hadn't realized how much weight he'd put on her until she sat up, pushing herself to her feet. She held out her hand, waiting for her gun to be returned. It wasn't.

"Not a chance."

"It's mine."

"Puck..."

"Shut up, Finn." This Finn boy was tall, taller than Puck, but he was more timid about the whole thing. He was standing behind Santana, a few feet back, his gun dangling from one hand, while Santana's finger was still curled around the trigger of hers.

And this Puck bastard still had hers. She stepped forward, hand still extended, eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. "You assaulted me while I was sleeping."

"You shot at me..." She cut him off, raising one finger between them.

"Because you were trying to take my one line of defense. And you put a gun in my face. It's already been established that we mean you no harm. We were here first, and then you and your companion arrived, obviously with the intent to claim this house as your own."

"Wait a minute, I'm not his companion!" Finn turned his head to look at Puck, brows knit together. "Am I?"

Santana snorted, and Rachel spoke once again. "That gun is mine, I've shot many a zombie with it, so unless you'd like me to fight you for it, I suggest you hand it over."

The entire time she'd been speaking to him, he'd been looking at her in what could only be shock, confusion, and maybe a little amusement. But when she finished, his bark of laughter threw her off. And it made her want to slap him across the check.

"Whatever the fuck you say. Take it." And just like that, he flipped it around, handing the pistol back to her. Rachel slipped it into the holster at her waist, giving him a curt nod. Santana was at her side in an instant, free hand curling around her upper arm, tugging her away from the boys.

"Now that you've found us, you two can get the fuck out." Rachel didn't miss how Santana was looking directly at this Puck guy, not the taller boy. And Finn seemed entirely focused on what Santana was saying.

Puck however, was not.

"As if." He pushed past the two of them, flopping down onto the bed Rachel had all but claimed a few hours ago. "You two can go."

"Bullshit."

"Puck, maybe we should just let them stay here."

"Let us?" It was the first time Rachel spoke to Finn, stalking towards the enormous boy, head tilted back so she could glare up at him. "We don't need your permission to stay here. We found this house, we claimed it. There are plenty of other places you and your-" she waved her pistol in Puck's direction, and it was regrettable that she missed how his brows rose in concern. "_friend_ to take shelter."

"Wrong, Princess." Her head snapped back to the bed, where Puck was splayed out, laying claim on where _she_ had been moments ago. "We're here to stay. And you won't change that."

"Unless we shoot you." Rachel had to admire Santana's deadpan, and the look of panic in Finn's eyes. Puck? He didn't budge. If anything, his smirk only grew wider.

"Like I said, bullshit. Maybe you're okay with killing people. But that one?" He raised his chin in Rachel's direction, sniffing. "Not a chance."

He was arrogant and an absolute ass, the way he lay there, gun at his side, one ankle crossed over the other as he looked them over. Calling her _Princess_, insulting them after storming into a house that had already been claimed. And the worst part was that he was right. Rachel couldn't kill someone who was alive, even if they were absolute jerks. Well, Puck was a jerk. She wasn't sure about Finn.

"Okay wait." He spoke, taking a hesitant step forward, gaining confidence before stepping between the girls and the bed. "We're in the middle of a post-apocalyptic crisis. Fighting each other isn't going to do us any good." No one spoke, so he pressed onward. "You girls obviously know how to survive, since you've made it this far. And Puck, they're headed down to Florida. Maybe we should all just go together."

"No."

"You fucking serious?" Rachel glared at the man on her bed when the two spoke simultaneously. But Santana's lack of a response was what truly unnerved her.

"San?" She looked at her roommate, whose brow was knit, looking at Finn for several long seconds.

"Guy's got a point, Rach."

"What?"

"They're dudes, Berry. And if we're going the same way, it makes sense." The taller girl shrugged before her gaze hardened, looking between the two boys. "But you two need to get this. I'm getting to Miami no matter what. You two drag me down? I'll shoot you both myself. Even if Rachel tries to stop me." And with that, she turned, leaving Rachel alone with the two men, all three with varying degrees of speechlessness.

Finn was the first to break. "Okay so um. I guess we'll figure out when we're leaving tomorrow." He gave Rachel a sheepish smile before walking out. She was left alone once more with him.

"Get off my bed." She stalked forward, hand on her hip, eyes narrowed. When he shook his head, she couldn't contain her huff of irritation. "If you don't move, I will be forced to physically remove you."

He just stared at her, a smug look painted across his face. "Try it. I won't be as nice when I pin you though."

She would have slapped him, had his gun not been so close to his hand. And for some reason, Rachel knew he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger.


	5. Chapter 5

They fought way too fucking long on which car to take. Seriously, the girls thought their crappy red SUV would be their car. The short one, Rachel or whatever, kept bitching at him. When he told her that if she wanted to go separately and waste twice as much gas, that shut her up. Figures. Chick seemed like the type to still be all about the environment even during the end of the world.

Turned out they were all headed in the same direction, which was weird as fuck. Apparently this hispanic chick had a house down south, and even if her parents weren't alive, at least they'd have somewhere to go. Solid enough plan. He knew Finn was headed down to find his brother and mom, even though chances of that working out were slim to none. But he wasn't going to be the one to tear down the guy's hopes. At least he had something to hold onto. Fuck, Puck kind of envied him, which was beyond fucked up.

Whatever. He had better things to do than dwell. Like make sure Finn didn't kill them. Dude had wanted the first driving shift, and Puck had thought that maybe he'd be able to sleep a little beforehand. But nope. Fucking Berry (that's what he'd heard Santana call her a few times already) wouldn't shut up. She was up front with Finn, and Puck didn't know how, but somehow she'd gotten him to talk to her about something totally stupid. She mentioned something called "Wicked" and then "Fame" and yeah, Puck didn't really give two shits. And even though he was sitting next to a really hot Hispanic chick, he didn't try anything. Mainly because Santana had told him up front that if he did, she would personally fill his head with lead. Apparently the chick didn't sugarcoat her feelings, especially when those feelings were of total disgust. But fuck her if she didn't like him. Fuck all of them. Puck was used to being on his own. Having these three along?

Totally sucked.

It took him awhile, but he finally managed to tune out that annoying voice coming from the front seat, at least enough for him to get some sleep. He didn't know how close they were to Florida, but as of right now, it was too fucking far for Puck. He didn't want to be with these three people. He didn't want to be with anyone. That was his last thought before drifting off, head tucked against the window.  
><strong>… … … <strong>

Whoever agreed on these shifts was a moron, though Rachel had a reasonably valid suspicion as to why Santana had arranged to stay up with Finn. The girl was not exactly subtle about her conquests, or _when_ she wanted something. But really, Rachel had no desire to stay awake with Puck, especially when he was driving. And he wouldn't even let her pick the music.

It was dark by the time their shift started, and Route 50 through Georgia was as quiet as one could expect. They didn't talk, both highly aware of the awkwardness between them. From the backseat, Rachel could hear Finn snoring, and she imagined Santana was asleep as well. No way the girl would let those sounds pass if she were awake.

He was a good enough driver, better than Finn, though not nearly as good as she or Santana. But he seemed more relaxed behind the wheel. There wasn't as much tension in his expression, except for maybe now, since she was seated beside him. She thought all his focus was on the road when she reached to switch radio stations. His hand came down on hers, fingers curling around her wrists, tossing her hand back into her lap.

"Don't even think about it, Princess." His voice was gruff, and when she huffed irritably, she was sure she saw his eyes roll. Arrogant, as always.

"We've been listening to this... _stuff_ for the past two hours."

"Shows how much you know about music. Fuckin' Zeplin." He reached to turn it up higher before Rachel swatted his arm, gesturing towards the pair sleeping in the back. "Whatever."

Now he was just being insulting, attacking her musical knowledge. "I'll have you know that I'm far more musically knowledgeable than you could ever imagine." She received no verbal response, unless a vulgar snort qualified as a word. "I was a musical theater major at NYU, so for you to assume that..."

"Look." There was a new-found level of irritation in his voice, one that Rachel did not care for in the slightest. It was unnerving. "We have a long ass drive ahead of us so if all you're going to do is run your mouth, tell me now. I'm sure we got duct tape in the truck."

That stung more than Rachel would have expected it to. She snapped her mouth shut, turning away from him to look out the window, eyes riveted on the passing scenery, even though she could barely make out a tree through the bleak night. Her fingers curled around her knees, nails digging into her skin through her jeans. She'd been called many things back in high school, a loudmouth being one of them. Perhaps it was a little immature, but his remark took her back to that time, when she had felt just as alone as she did during a zombie apocalypse. She brought her other hand up to her mouth, closing her eyes tightly as she worked to control her breathing. Silence passed between them, with only the music and Finn's snoring to fill the void. She wasn't sure how much time passed before he spoke.

"Fuck I'm sorry, okay?" His hand reached across the console, taking her hand in his, giving it a quick squeeze. "Just don't. Don't cry or whatever."

"I won't. I wasn't going to." She noted how her hand was still in his grasp, and he realized the same thing, letting go after a few seconds. She wasn't sure if his apology was said with sincerity or out of guilt, or maybe he just didn't want her to start crying. Whatever the reason, she could bring herself to appreciate it. Silence fell over them again, though this time not nearly as uncomfortable. It was Rachel who broke it though, voice softer than usual. "So how did you two meet?" She tilted her head back, gesturing towards the sleeping boy in the back.

"Saved his sorry ass in a Target up in Virginia. We were both headed in the same direction."

"South? Or Florida?"

"South. It sort of just turned into Florida for me. He wants to go see if some of his family are still alive."

Rachel nodded quietly, turning her head to look back at Finn, noting that he and Santana were a little closer than necessary, considering how spacious the backseat was. "I can understand that. My fathers- I have two gay dads," she tacked on, easily clearing up any possible confusion "they live in Albany, which is north of the city where Tana and I go to school. I literally had to drag her with me. I suppose she realized my situation. By the time we got there though, they were gone." There was a familiar thickness in her voice, looking down at her hands, now clasped in her lap. "The house was empty. I don't know if they made it, and I have no way of communicating with them." She glanced his way, but couldn't read his expression in the sparse light. "I think it's worse, not knowing if they're dead."

She nearly missed his next words, but Finn took that moment to pause his snoring. "It's not." Rachel thought she heard pain in his voice, but it was gone when he spoke again, his tone back to normal. "I'm sorry. About your family." Puck shrugged. "I'm not going to say something like 'I'm sure you'll find them.' If that's what you were hoping I'd say. Because it's probably not going to happen and I don't believe in lying to people."

She could tell that he didn't expect her to squeeze his knee, however short a moment it was. "Thank you." She smiled at him, even though he probably couldn't see. She retracted her hand, setting it in her lap again. "I appreciate your honestly, at least this time."

She didn't need to look at him to know he was smirking. "You're going to have to get used to it, baby. I'm a truth telling machine."  
><strong>..<strong>**...****...**

She wasn't sleeping. How could she, with Finn basically snoring in her ear. She'd shoved at him a few times, but the guy just couldn't sleep. So no, Santana had been drifting in and out, more in when Puck and Rachel actually started talking, as opposed to bickering. Seriously, she didn't get what was up between the two of them. Granted, she got where Puck was coming from. Berry could get super grating, but the dude needed to lighten up. She was going to kick his seat when he brought up that duct tape shit, but his apology had calmed her down. Seriously, no one got to tear down Berry, except for herself when the situation called for it.

Santana wasn't sappy enough to get all teary eyed when Rachel brought up how they met, or how she felt about her dads. The thing was, Santana didn't really give a fuck about her parents. Yeah she loved them, but they'd never really been around when she was a kid. Both her parents fucked around with other people, and maybe a therapist would've said that was why Santana had been so promiscuous as a kid. But there was no therapist, and Tana didn't need to know why she did what she did. She just did it. But still, she'd felt something in her tighten uncomfortably when she thought about getting home. She didn't want them dead, but she did want closure. She just wasn't naive enough to assume she'd get it.

Finn snored particularly loud, and she restrained a groan, deciding instead to punch him in the arm, though that didn't stir him, not in the way she wanted at least. He stretched out, taking over some if her space. Stupid asshole. But she could adapt.

"Move." It was a soft grumble, and she doubted the now quietly talking pair would hear. She flopped against Finn's side, finding it far more comfortable than she was willing to admit. And he smelled good, considering bathing options were pretty limited. She exhaled softly, closing her eyes, jumping when his arm moved, wrapping around her shoulders. She didn't do this- this _cuddling_thing. There was no gratification, and that's really all she usually wanted. But his arm was heavy and he was warm. Something about being pressed against him muffled the Zeplin in the car, and the talking from the front.

She sank into it, not nearly as relaxed as she would have liked, but enough for her to be reasonably comfortable. She fell asleep telling herself it wasn't cuddling, because really, it wasn't. And she'd kick someone's ass if they tried to say otherwise.


End file.
